Perspective
by Shadow Rebirth
Summary: A collection of one-shots focusing on a character's actions through their perspective. Chapter 1: Ron Weasley; Chapter 2: Neville Longbottom; Chapter 3: Harry Potter.
1. Ron Weasley

Title: Perspective: Ron Weasley  
Author: Shadow Rebirth  
Rating: K+  
Chapter WC: 892  
Story WC: 892  
First Written: November 12, 2008  
Last Edited: November 24, 2008  
Posted: November 23, 2008  
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This work has not been endorsed by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic Publishing, Warner Bros., or any of the others holding copyright or license to the Harry Potter books, movies, and products. No connection is implied or should be inferred. Other names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author receives no financial gain from its production or distribution.  
Summary: A collection of one-shots focusing on a character's actions through their perspective.

A/N: ...I just keep coming up with one-shot collections lately, don't I? I can't help it; the ideas just won't leave me alone. Unlike _Realism_, however, these will be much more serious and will focus looking at characters' actions through their perspective. This first one will be about Ron and is had been written because, well, honestly I really, _really_ don't like Ron's character and have never really been able to see exactly why Harry is friends with him. This one-shot is perhaps a brief explanation on why Ron might act the way that he does. Take it how you will. Please read, review, and enjoy!

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Perspective

Ron Weasley  
_Best and Worst of Friends_

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Ron Weasley sat alone on top of the Astronomy tower, his arms wrapped around his legs, holding them against his chest. Slowly, almost lazily, he flicked his wrist and sent a small pebble flying over the wall. His dark eyes tracked the projectile as it plummeted to ground far below.

Sometimes it felt good to get away. To be separate from everything, from everyone. From all the problems that life thrust into his face.

Ron knew very well that he was emotionally stunted. It came from growing up with so many siblings. He was loved by his family, of course, but having older siblings constantly pick on him, having them overlook him for other, more important things in their lives was not exactly ideal conditions to learn how to express oneself.

It was because of this that Ron had been so overjoyed when he'd finally gotten to come to Hogwarts. He'd finally had a chance to start anew, to make friends, and to be his own person.

Harry Potter was his best friend. And not only because of all the things they'd done together, but also because he was his first friend outside of his family. Harry had been the first person to recognize him as being Ron, rather than "just another Weasley". He was one of few to do so and for that Ron would forever be grateful.

Though he'd probably never admit it aloud, Ron really looked up to Harry. He was without a doubt one of the greatest people he'd ever met—possibly even greater than Dumbledore. No matter what life threw his way, Harry always got through it with his head held high. He was selfless and honorable and didn't have a mean bone in his body. Harry did everything he could for others. Ron was convinced that Harry would gladly give his life for a complete stranger if only that person asked.

In a way, Harry was everything that Ron was not. Harry was forgiving where Ron was jealous, he was self-sacrificing where Ron was greedy, he was patient where Ron was short-tempered, he was humble where Ron was boastful, and he was fearless where Ron would cower. Ron recognized this, and it was his greatest fear that one day Harry would too.

With a flick of his wrist, Ron tossed another pebble over the edge of the tower.

Ron knew without a doubt that Harry was a better person than him. Hell, Harry was a better person than perhaps anyone in Hogwarts. The thing was Harry never seemed to realize this, despite all of the things that he'd done for others. He always said that anyone would do the same in his place, but the reality was that most people, including Ron himself, would have broken long ago under the strain that Harry was put under. It would be so easy for Harry to succumb to the darkness, for him to take the path of power and vengeance, but he never did.

The thing was, one day Harry would realize all of this. One day he would finally wake up and realize just how great of a person he was. He would realize how much better he was than Ron. The redhead truly feared that day, because he knew that Harry would then leave him. His first and best friend would leave him.

Had Ron fully thought this through, he would realize that such actions didn't match up with Harry's personality in the slightest, but fears are rarely rational.

In reaction to his fears, Ron did the only thing that he could: He lashed out whenever he and Harry started drifting apart. Unconsciously, he was trying to push Harry away. If Harry was mad at him, then he'd leave because of Ron's temperament and not because he realized how much better than Ron. This, of course, defeated the entire purpose of Harry _not_ leaving, but it was the only way that Ron could deal with it.

He was desperate and he knew it.

"Oi, Ron, what are you doing here? The break period is over."

Surprised, Ron turned from his perch to find Harry standing in the doorway that led into the tower. One of his eyebrows was arched in silent question.

Plastering a smile across his face, Ron leapt to his feet. "Eh, I was just thinking," the young wizard replied somewhat awkwardly as he approached his friend.

Harry let out a snort. "Thinking? You? I hope you didn't hurt yourself."

"Oi, that's harsh mate! At least I didn't make a girl _cry_ during a date." Despite his words, the laughter in Ron's voice made it clear exactly what he thought of this. Harry grimaced, thoughts of Cho and their recent date obviously crossing his mind. Ron let out a bark of laughter and slapped Harry on the back. "C'mon, mate," he continued while still grinning, "Like you said, we've got a class to get to."

Grumbling, Harry moved in front of Ron as they began to descend the stairs. Ron was glad for this because it meant that the other wizard was unable to see the sad glint that flashed across the redhead's eyes.

One day, Harry would realize how much better of a person he was and break off their friendship, but until then they _were_ friends.

The best and worst of friends.


	2. Neville Longbottom

Title: Perspective: Neville Longbottom  
Author: Shadow Rebirth  
Rating: K+  
Chapter WC: 566  
Story WC: 1,458  
First Written: November 23, 2008  
Last Edited: November 25, 2008  
Posted: November 25, 2008  
Summary: A collection of one-shots focusing on a character's actions through their perspective.

A/N: Next up, Neville Longbottom. He's a rather interesting character because of how he changes over the course of the HP series. There's just so much that can be done with his character...

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Perspective

Neville Longbottom  
_Vicious Cycle_

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Neville Longbottom smiled gently as he carefully repotted a plant. His fingers worked deftly in the soil, easily avoiding harming the plant.

He had never felt more at home than in a greenhouse, surrounded by plants. When he'd been younger, it had been his refuge from the world. Even now it was a place he came to think, to let his thoughts drift off carelessly. It was the one place that he didn't have to worry about what people would think of him.

For as long as he could remember, Neville had always been compared to his parents. He'd been told how they'd been great people and powerful wizards and how, hopefully, one day he'd be just like them.

The problem was, Neville _wasn't_ like them. He wasn't a great wizard, hell, he wasn't even a mediocre wizard. He struggled every day just to pass his classes. He wasn't a brave person either, as his peers reminded him constantly; he still wasn't sure how he'd gotten placed in Gryffindor.

It was widely known throughout Hogwarts that Neville's worst fear was Professor Snape, but this wasn't entirely true. The truth was that his worst fear was failing his parents, of being unable to live up to their memory. It was a fear he lived in everyday, a fear that lived in his every action. It made him second guess himself, made him hesitate, made him stumble. It was this fear, this nervousness, that ruined his life, but no matter what he did, it wouldn't go away.

It had become a vicious cycle.

Neville tried to be strong, he really did. He tried to stop holding himself back. But...Every time he started getting close, every time he began to master something, he would suddenly remember the Death Eaters who had tortured his parents into insanity. He would remember the power they commanded and how it had twisted them.

It terrified Neville, to be honest. It was another of his worst fears that if he _did_ become strong, he could end up like them. That he could end up haunted by power. He didn't know if he could stand it if his parents or his grandmother ever compared him to the Death Eaters.

And so instead Neville found himself caught in limbo, fearing being weak and fearing being powerful.

It was only when he was with his plants that Neville allowed himself to be confident. Here, he wouldn't mess up. And it wouldn't matter even if he did, because no one was here to it. He finally allowed himself to relax.

After patting down the soil, Neville brushed the soil from his hands and his Hogwarts robe. He absently flicked his wand, levitating the pot, and began to move it back into the back of the school greenhouse.

At that moment, the door to the greenhouse suddenly swung open and a student poked their head in. Startled, Neville lost control of his magic and the newly potted plant crashed loudly to the ground, sending soil and broken pieces of clay flying everywhere. The young teen stared down at his project in dismay.

Meanwhile, the other student began snickering. "Merlin, Longbottom," he said. "If you're going to work in the greenhouses, at least _try_ to be careful. Anyway, Professor McGonagall is looking for you." And then he was gone, without another word.

Neville sighed and slowly began to clean up.


	3. Harry Potter

Title: Perspective: Harry Potter  
Author: Shadow Rebirth  
Rating: T/PG-13  
Chapter WC: 1,050  
Story WC: 2,508  
First Written: January 19, 2009  
Last Edited: February 16, 2009  
Posted: February 16, 2009  
Summary: A collection of one-shots focusing on a character's actions through their perspective.

A/N: This was originally a stand-alone one-shot, but I decided it fit better in here. I have to admit that I'm not entirely satisfied with it, because it's a little to angsty for my tastes, but it's supposed to portray some of Harry's thoughts during his sixth year. Meh, I might go back and change a few parts later on. But probably not, because I'm lazy like that.

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Perspective

Harry Potter  
_Forever is Just a Word_

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Water always felt like ice to Harry, even when it was scalding hot. It always seemed to freeze his inside, to cause goosebumps to break out of his skin. He dreaded taking showers just for that reason.

(_Because sometimes the cold loneliness hurt._)

His friends worried about him, he knew. He was aware of every glance thrown his way. Of every softly whispered conversation behind his back. Of every time Hermione's lips thinned with concern or Ron scowled with helpless annoyance.

But somehow he just couldn't bring himself to care. Their concern seemed muted to him, like background static. Everything seemed that way these days. All the colors seemed dull, all the sounds seemed muffled. He felt as though he'd been cut off from the world.

Sometimes he wondered what was wrong with him.

(_And sometimes he tried to pretend that he didn't already know._)

Once or twice Harry tried to act normal, or at least as normal as he'd once been. It didn't work out very well though, so he stopped trying. There didn't seem to be a point to it anymore.

At other times he felt as though the walls were closing in on him even when he was in the Great Hall. He felt so trapped, like he was just a rat in a maze. Maybe at any moment someone would pop out and tell him that it was all a joke, that he wasn't actually fated to die.

But he'd never been normal, so why should things change now?

Fate hated him anyway, he thought, with the way it blocked him at every turn. Sometimes Harry felt like he was bashing his head into a brick wall just trying to get through life. But when others would stop in order to avoid brain damage, Harry just kept on going. His friends told him that such stubbornness was good.

(_He wasn't so sure anymore. But then, he wasn't sure of anything these days._)

"Stop pushing us away, Harry."

He wanted to, really he did.

"You're only hurting yourself."

He knew that; Merlin, he _felt_ it—

"What're you so depressed about, mate?"

He wished he could tell them. Sometimes it was right on the tip of his tongue, but just when he was about blurt it out, something always distracted them. And then when Hermione would turn back to him and ask what he wanted, he would only shake his head mutely and turn away.

(_And he wondered when something so simple had become so complicated._)

Sometimes Harry would wake up the middle of the night, covered in sweat and gasping for breath. Terror unlike anything he'd ever felt before would grip his heart and he'd find himself unable to stop shaking.

Fear was at it really came down to, he thought.

(_Sometimes he felt like an animal, trapped by his own instincts._)

Harry wondered if this was what Sirius had felt like when he'd been in Azkaban: So terrified that death would come sweeping down on him at any moment. But then he decided that it wasn't the same. Sirius had always had that chance of freedom, that glimmer of hope to hang onto.

Harry was chained to death and the key was in Voldemort's hands.

Every now and then Harry wished his nightmares would come back. If nothing else, they distracted him.

(_It shamed him to know that he was running from the truth._)

Harry always felt guilty pleasure when ever he allowed his helpless, terrified rage to overtake him.

How could he treat his friends this way—?

Finally, an outlet for his stress—

It was their fault anyway for trying to get him to open up—

He hated himself sometimes. But he pushed them away anyway. What choice did he have?

(_They were friends with a dead man._)

He knew that everyone was afraid of death. He knew that death came for everyone. He knew that his fear was justified. He knew that everything had to end somehow, be it now or later.

But that didn't make him fear death any less.

Harry sometimes saw a glimmer of what had tempted Tom Riddle to chase immortality. To live forever, to no longer have to fear death...He couldn't even begin to imagine how much of a weight off his shoulders that would be.

To have forever in his pocket...

But then that very thought terrified him. It terrified him to know that he could understand, perhaps even sympathize, with Voldemort.

(_"We're alike, you and I," the ghost had said. Harry had wanted to fervently deny it, but his mouth wouldn't move._)

If anyone ever asked what his favorite color was, Harry would have to say blue. It was the color of the sky and thus, in his mind, the color of freedom. The sky stretched on forever; it had always been there and always would. It was...

Peace.

(_And just like the sky, peace was always just out of reach._)

Harry loved to fly because of the brief feelings of freedom that he granted him. For those moments he hung between heaven and earth and he was entirely in control of his own fate. His life was in his own hands, his to do with as he wished.

It was addicting, like tasting a forbidden fruit. Then he would laugh at the very thought that he was addicted to freedom; addicted to life.

Harry didn't tell his friends, but sometimes, when things got to be too much, he'd slip outside for a nighttime broom ride. He'd never been happier than when he felt the cool air brushing through his hair like a lover's hand.

(_Because it was the closest to forever that he'd ever get._)

Harry did know when he finally accepted the fact that the prophecy was going to kill him. It hadn't been a sudden epiphany or a gradual realization. It just...was.

The acceptance granted Harry a strange sort of peace. His friends had always told him that he had a hero-complex, so why not live up to that label by saving the world? What they did with themselves after that wasn't his problem.

Harry still feared death, but the circumstances no longer bothered him. He didn't know why and he didn't particularly care.

(_Because in the end, forever is just a word._)


End file.
